Bike Beginnings

I have talked plenty about how cycling has provided a therapeutic balance to my life and soul and body, rescued me in a sense, a type of salvation.  When life seems tough or I am not feeling physically well, riding brings me back to focus, calms me in a way that brings healthy clarity.  In a sense, riding also allows me to reach inside myself, find that place where I can approach my maker.  I believe that my existence is truly my soul.  Riding brings me there like nothing else can.  Cycling is God’s gift to me, one of the ways he is able to communicate with me.

The past few days have required calm and clarity.  Stress was affecting me physically, enough that I was concerned.  I need to think through the new challenges with a wisdom that I really don’t possess.  Thankfully, I have a strong relationship with my father as well as solid friendships that provide support.  When it comes down to it, though, the decisions are mine to make — although the decisions also involve my son and his mother, my ex.  There is temptation to simply appease them, bandage the new wound caused by the loss of my son’s car.  If the decision is a quick fix, it’s not likely going to be the most sound decision.  My ex wants to buy him another car.  That’s the quick fix.  But I have a large federal tax bill to pay, property taxes due by the end of May.  Adding another payment to an already tight budget will not be a wise decision.

It took some slowing down to bring me to the point of knowing that waiting is the best approach.  My body and mind had to slow down together to come to that point.  Cycling and prayer has done that for me, I think, as well as spending some time with a good friend.

Monday night, as I felt the affect of the previous day’s elevated stress and blood pressure, I skipped the opportunity to ride.  Instead, I opted to ask a neighbor to share the fajitas I had slow cooked all.  It wasn’t an evening of woe is me soul baring, it was an evening of enjoying the company of a friend, my body telling me quickly by the way I felt as I relaxed.  It was the right thing to do.  Funny, as I arrived home from work on Monday, I prayed and knew what to do that evening.  It didn’t take a bike ride for me to be able to listen.

I needed more, though.  My body needed to recover from the stress, even as I had began to relax.  Tuesday evening temperature was in the upper 40s to low 50s, so I set out on my fat bike for a ride through the area forest preserves.  Most of the crushed limestone trails were dry enough for an easy ride.  As I warmed up, I felt the ease of pedaling and my pace picked up.  Halfway into my ride, I crossed paths with two experienced riders, exchanged pleasantries as they admired my 9;Zero;7 fat bike (it’s a conversation piece as it’s a little unique).  The pace was brisk and I was up to the task, my attitude coming up the more we rode.  After a few miles, they headed in another direction as I broke off in the direction of Mount Hoy, a former landfill that provides a progressively steep and moderately long climb.  I chose the path up the side of the landfill rather than the grassy slope for my climb, the satisfaction of pushing through the last 20 or so yards giving me energy as I crested the top of the landfill and was treated to the awesome clear view from the top.  I circled the top a few times as I caught my breath, then streaked down the grassy slope on the other side, exhiliarated by the speed while I rushed towards the bottom.  I cruised home through the woods and over the river bridge that had once served as the entrance to a franciscan sisters prayer retreat.  The energy of the ride buoyed me the entire rest of the evening.  I could already feel myself beginning to process more clearly the thoughts I need to address right now.

Last night was awesome, shirtsleeve and shorts weather, a welcomed day after the winter temperatures.  Trail reports for the mountain bike trails I ride were that they were in prime condition.  After making some adjustments to my bike, I loaded my bike up on the bike of my car, went to the trails.  I was greeted there by Deni, an enthusiastic 19 year old who loves to ride with my friends and I.  He and I rode for an hour and a half, once again at a strong pace, the rush of the singletrack adding even more energy.  Once again, I came home feeling even better.

Cycling.  Friends.  All gifts from God.  All ways he speaks to me.  I feel it, understand more, thankful that I am able to listen.

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BOOM!!!!!

Life has been a literal whirlwind lately, with a lot of challenges thrown at me almost simultaneously.  I like to think that somehow I am more equipped to deal with those challenges now, whether that is true or not.  The past few days tested me more than a little bit, pushed me literally to emotional limits that also affected me physically.  That wasn’t unusual during the course of my marriage, but my response to the current challenges has me proud.

Last week started with a work trip to Florida, responsibilities a bit out of my comfort zone as those responsibilities required me to lead training seminars for a customer with enormous potential.  While I found that I am more than capable and performed very well, my normally adequate ego was feeling the shrink caused by the cold reality that I am self trained.  I felt inadequate going in to the trip, made me overcompensate a bit to the point of being over prepared.  The salesman I accompanied gave me high marks to my boss, something that was shared with my tired soul when I returned to the office last Thursday.

Yes, the innuendo is intentional.  🙂

Tired was the word, but not too much.  I had tried to save my company money by taking the red eye flight home to Chicago from Tampa, a $97 flight, arrived home after midnight.  I still arrived to work at my normal 8:30 AM start time, beat both of my coworkers in.

Yes, the adequate ego is still adequate.

The challenges started last Friday, when I received a call from the internet and cable TV provider that shall remain unnamed.  I think they are getting too big for their britches.  The caller informed me that my promotional rate was about to expire.  What promotional rate?, I inquired, I didn’t sign a promotional contract.  I was informed that 24 months, I did get a promotional rate that is going to expire in a month.  If I didn’t sign up for another plan, my monthly rate would be roughly $280.  SAY WHAT?!!!!?  All I can say is, that’s a crappy sales pitch.  I asked the salesman to send me the options via email and I would consider each one, then make a decision.  He had called me while I am at work, after all, and right in the middle of preparing a rush quote.  That wasn’t possible, he told me, it had to be done over the phone and at that moment.  If not, they would call me back at a more convenient time, but nothing could be done by email.  I wasn’t kind to the guy (no acid, just firm), didn’t cut him any slack, told him that I don’t do anything over the phone.  Why not just give me the same plan, at the same rate, and be done with it.  Was that possible?  No.  The guy wouldn’t budge, but he was also getting frustrated with me… and hung up.

Yes, that’s how my weekend started.

Friday therapy night was great, as usual.  My friend John was back from his vacation travels, raring to go after signing up for an online dating site.  Jim and I spent a good deal of the evening helping him with his profile message and picture choices, even enlisted the aid of Jim’s girlfriend (via text) for the profile.  There was a joke that one woman on the site rejected and didn’t respond at all to Jim when he was using the site, and Jim would pay for their first date if John got her to respond.  “We” sent her a message — and SHE RESPONDED.  They are planning to meet this weekend, are hitting it off.  John is off and running.  Jim is annoyed — he’s not used to rejection.

Saturday was nice weather, low 50 degree temperatures, which means I rode the trails in shorts.  Woooohoooooo!  I finished my ride, loaded the bike up on the car, got in and checked my phone.  Uh oh.  A message from my ex that simply said call me as soon as you can.  Another message from my accountant, who is doing my taxes, an ominous message about not having enough withholding that looked scary.  I called my ex and found out that our son had a car accident, was OK, but his car was likely totaled.

Yes, GULP.

I hustled home, as I needed to not only prepare for a 5 o’clock meeting with friends and I also had to walk the cute little 3 month old female chow puppy that my brother had dropped off earlier in the day.  I was going to be dog sitting in my second floor condo for five days.  I made it home, walked the puppy, played with her a bit, cleaned up and left to meet my friends.  We went to a bonfire later on, had a grand time.  It was a great evening.  I came home fairly early, around 10:30 PM, to find…. uh oh.

Yes, uh oh.

Chows are very strong dogs, even as three month old puppies.  While I was gone, she decided that maybe I or someone else was on the other side of the heavy sliding wooden door that I had closed to keep her in my little galley kitchen.  She slammed into the closed door, likely multiple times, and knocked it out of track.  When I walked through my front door at 10:30, she greeted me at the front door.  The bottom of the door was extended out at least two feet.  Oh no.

Yes, OH NO!

My crazy downstairs neighbor must have been freaking out all evening from the noise of the dog.  Sure enough, the sound of my footsteps must have cued my neighbor of my arrival, because her patio light went on immediately and I could see her pacing out in front of her patio.  Moments later, I was treated to the sound of a Polish woman screeching loudly up at me.  I guarantee she was waiting for the drama, as she had observed me walking the puppy earlier that day.  I had also seen her husband in the hallway, where he asked me if I had a new dog and I told him that I was just dog sitting.

Yes, just dog sitting.  It was completely obvious very soon that did not matter.

Chows are darling, especially three month old puppies.  Chows are endearing.  Chows bond quickly and are very loving.  I was immediately Chloe’s best buddy.. and she would not leave me alone.  Chows are also very aggressive, which combined with their strength and intelligence makes them excellent guard dogs.  Note that in the picture I was sitting on the floor.  That worked better with her, because otherwise she would have demanded my attention.

Yes, that’s a black tongue.  Isn’t she adorable?  The short snout also causes her to snort.

I tried to leave for church, abandoned the closed kitchen door strategy, gave her a long leash and tied her to the kitchen table.  Chloe was barking before I even came close to the front door, and loudly.  Arrrrrggggghhhhh.  Teresa the Terrible, my neighbor, was already freaking out.  I left any way, hoped that the barking would cease shortly after I left.  Alas, I could hear barking as I walked outside through the courtyard and from my car.  I drove a few miles, the stress starting to rise and my better judgement telling me that I had better go back home.  I did.  She was still barking.

Yes, so was my downstairs neighbor, although her bark is a frantically anxious shriek.

I could hear her through her door as I walked up the stairs to my unit.  With each shriek, I could feel my blood pressure rising, something I have not felt in years.  Barking greeted me as I walked through my front door.  Nearly defeated, I released Chloe from her leash and hugged her as I sat on the floor with her.  She ate that up, little licks and nibbles demonstrating her enthusiastic affection for me.  What could I do about the situation?  I was beginning to feel trapped.  Not wanting to be held captive by my furry guest, craving the calm of a church worship service, I decided to risk letting her have the run of my small house.  Maybe she wouldn’t be so anxious, maybe she wouldn’t destroy anything from anxiety?  Cautiously, I walked out the front door.  She wanted to run out with me, but I stopped her, frowned as she whimpered at me.  I closed the door, walked slowly down the stairs as I listened for barking, hearing a loud whining whimper but no barking.  Maybe this was going to work?  I stopped at the landing, listened some more, hopeful I would be able to leave.

Yes, I was too hopeful.

As I stood on the landing, listening to the quiet whimper of the puppy from my condo unit above, a sudden loud commotion emerged as my neighbor loudly barged through her front door.  Complaints of he and that dog were making loud noise all last night, as well as I am getting sick of him nearly bowled me over as my neighbor angrily emerged while shrieking back at her husband, only to see me and zip back inside her condo as she slammed her door behind her.  The commotion continued on the other side of the door.

Yes, it was obvious she was destined for my front door.

It was also painfully obvious that I couldn’t keep this puppy, even for the few days I was supposed to dog sit.  Defeated, I trudged back upstairs to my home, greeted by a happy furball.  I looked down at her, apologized with the tears beginning to form.  What could I do?  My brother in his family were hours away, enjoying the sites in Washington, DC.  No way was I going to be able to leave this dog alone.  The next day and the days to follow until my brother would get home, I knew there was no way I could go to work — and I had to go to work as my boss was going to be travelling.  With dread, I texted my brother, asked him if it was possible to put Chloe in a kennel.  I knew the answer to that.  This puppy is only three months old, so she hasn’t had the shots required to board her.

My brother tried to find a kennel, but confirmed what I already knew, that she could not be boarded.  He called and apologized, assured me that he understands my situation.  Go ahead and load her up, drive south towards central Illinois, where our brother and our father live.  He would contact them and ask them to meet me halfway, take the dog from me.  This was something he knew might happen, that the dog would make too much noise and possibly become destructive.  It just looked like it wouldn’t happen.  The kitchen door should have been adequate to contain her and keep her calm.

I loaded her stuff in my car, put her in the back seat and began the drive south, not knowing if either my other brother or my father would be able to meet me.  The stress was really beginning to affect my blood pressure, the dizziness of elevated blood pressure starting to show up.  It didn’t help that the puppy wouldn’t stay in the back seat.  I tried letting her have the passenger seat next to me, but she wanted to be in my lap.  She also was getting anxious, her snorts increasing, my own anxiety increasing as I tried to deal with driving and her persistence.  Eventually, my dad called and just in time.  My blood pressure had elevated so much that I could barely breathe, much less drive.  He was worried, told me to turn around, go home and he would pick her up at my place.  I bought a bottle of water, sipped it as I drove carefully home, downed an extra dose of my blood pressure meds when I got home — which worked but really threw me into a loop.

Yes, I survived the day.

Monday was a new day — and an extremely busy day.  After lunch, I had to deal simultaneously with the insurance company calling about my son’s accident claim, my accountant wanting to talk about my tax return, my son calling about my accident,.. and another friend who wanted me to dog sit for him!  I survived, but had to deal with several items of bad news at once.  Over $4000 owed to federal taxes due to a withholding error, my son’s car totaled and too expensive to fix (liability insurance only).  I could only shrug my shoulders.  I can make it through this as I have many times before, said a prayer (which calmed me), then sat down to catch my breath and focus on the many blessings.  That helped me to see that it’s not so bad.

A friend came over that evening to share dinner with me, brought relaxation and calm back to me.  Calm and slightly warm weather has allowed me to ride, and ride quite well I must add, the last two evenings.  All is well.

Yes, all is well.

Burning Flesh

Tags

Humour, lessons learned, life, personal, technology

My feeble mind goes back a few years to a day when perhaps my life was spared.  I still remember the acrid scent of burning flesh and ozone, the horrified look on my son’s face after he had witnessed his father being thrown across the room by forces unbeknownst to him.  I was attempting my first minor project that involved house current, too cheap or too poor to hire someone to do the job who actually knew what they were doing.  We, meaning my former wife and I, had redone our son’s room to a sports theme, with walls painted to resemble grass, a border of various and assorted balls, shelfs lined with his collection of trophies, a sports themed switch plate.  The final touch was to add a soccer ball light fixture to the ceiling fan.

I was up to the task, a little research on how to retrofit a ceiling fan done on the internet.  Armed with YouTube handyman courage, I climbed the short metal extension ladder in the middle of the bedroom, screwdriver in hand, prepared for what I thought was the most simple task to add to my arsenal of household accomplishments.  The breaker to the bedroom was shut off, the master wall switch in the off position.  I should have been safe.

Do I even need to say how wrong I was?

The cover plate on the ceiling fan was removed easily, the wires disconnected.  I put the retrofit fixture for the light in place, attached the wires to the terminal connections then gingerly put my screwdriver on the terminals to tighten them down.

POOF!!!!!!!!

I had touched the metal of the screwdriver against the ceiling fan housing, only to discover that I should have shut off the mains at the breaker box.  Horrified, my son watched as I was launched off the ladder and across the room.  He bolted (a ironic term) out of the room to retrieve his mother, sure that his father was singing with the angels.  I came to as the scent of my own burning flesh mixed with the smell of fresh ozone.  I looked at my hand, still tingling from the trauma created by the introduction of house electricity, intrigued by the slightly smoking black spot in the side of my knuckle.  The current had entered there.  Further inspection revealed where the jolt of electricity had exited at my elbow.

I wondered if I had super powers as a result.  They have yet to emerge.

Recently, the recessed light in my shower stall ceased to work.  I knew failure was coming, since it often shut off a minute or two into a shower as the fixture overheated.  It was only a matter of time before the light quit working.  After it failed, I investigated the cause.  It wasn’t the breaker, which sometimes had to be reset after the light shut off.  It wasn’t the switch.  Replacement bulbs didn’t solve the problem.  It was obvious that either the light socket or the heat sensor on the fixture had burned out.

Crap.  I am still too cheap to pay someone to fix it.  That meant I had to risk my life again to fix it on my own.

 

This time experience was on my side, as well as a whole lot better breaker box.  Now I live in a condo, with the main power on a different floor and away from my condo unit.  Shutting off the main power was as simple to going to the condo building utility room and shutting off the main to my unit.  I connected an extension cord and utility light to a hallway outlet so that I would have light in my bathroom while performing the task of replacing the light socket.  I had decided to retrofit a LED light kit, which meant I had to cut the wires, remove the existing socket and bracket, and strip the wires to wire the new light fixture in.  I performed the task as I stood in the tub, half expecting to meet Jesus as I cut the wires.  Half surprised at the lack of response as I cut the wires, then stripped the insulation back and connected the wires with nuts, a relieved SHenry completed the task.  I inserted the next fixture into the recessed can in the shower stall ceiling, cleaned up, turned on the main power, flipped the switch.

VOILA!  Success.  Glorious success.  The new LED fixture worked without flaw and looks even better than the original incandescent light.

A friend heard of my success (bragging is never a good idea) and now wants me to replace her failed closet light.  She had better make it worth it….